Square Knots
by eLynda
Summary: A collection of one shots, and an occasional two or three chapter arc. These stories are a result of Adrinette April, Marichat May, Ladrien June, or Ladynoir July prompts, eventually including each side of the love square. Unless otherwise noted in the author's notes, they are not connected.
1. Waiting Room

**Author's Note: This collection started when inspiration struck looking at the first week of prompts for Adrinette April. I have combined those into one story, which will be this first chapter. I am currently working on one other compilation of several prompts and may or may not write toward more of them later this month, but I also plan to do more one shots revolving around other ships of the love square (especially Marichat next month), so I decided to combine it into one unconnected collection with a title that will fit all of the stories I may include.**

**As for this chapter, once I started looking at the prompts, that first week began to form into this story from one of my favorite/least favorite episodes, "Frozer." I wanted to write fluff, but it didn't turn out that way. Did I mention I have a love/hate thing with this episode?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

Marinette liked to consider it a waiting room of sorts; that sounded far better than "friend zone." Largely having an upbeat personality, she preferred to look on the brighter side when she could. Because, when that wasn't possible, the rapid downward spiral of her thoughts was impressive.

She'd been here long enough that she knew the number of ceiling tiles in the waiting room. She could point out the scuffs on the wall where the dulled, off-white paint had chipped away when the uncomfortable chairs had bumped against it. She could locate the rips in the fabric where careless inhabitants had caused damage, at least until she had expertly repaired them. After all, she needed something to do while she was waiting.

Waiting. To be seen.

Waiting. To be known.

Waiting. To hear the words "more than," before the dreaded and oft-repeated, "a friend."

Waiting. For Adrien Agreste.

Honestly, this place was driving her nuts, and she wanted out. She tried to leave several times but something always went wrong: she mixed up her words, literally fell down, forgot to sign a Valentine card. She couldn't get out once and for all, at least not without risking the loss of the young man who had become one of her best friends.

If she could just hold on long enough, surely he'd figure it out. So, she kept waiting. It wasn't really wasted time. They had gotten closer. She could talk normally around Adrien, now, most of the time. And while she was still clumsy, it was no worse around him than with any other person. But still she was a friend. A good friend. But still _just_ a friend.

And then one day, the very last person she would have expected to join her in the waiting room of the friend zone became her unintentional seat buddy. Really, could this happen to anyone else? She supposed it was sweet, in a way, that he sought her out for advice, about the girl he had started to see differently. Marinette hated how she had let her hopes rise with that conversation. It meant she had that much further to fall, back down to the hard earth, when it wasn't her name on his lips.

For just a moment, she entertained the thought of keeping him here in the waiting room with her. Maybe as they spent time together, he'd come to see her differently. Almost as quickly, she rejected the idea as selfish and manipulative. And because she really was his friend, she agreed to help. Even if it meant it happened with someone else, she wanted him to be happy.

That led to perhaps the most embarrassing double "date" in the history of dating. Clumsily hitting the wall while distracted by how well things appeared to be going for Adrien and Kagami, landing on her behind, literally freezing up, and then finally hiding in the bathroom when she realized she couldn't do this after all.

Now that she thought of it, this particular hiding place wasn't a whole lot different from the sterile waiting room she had been inhabiting for so long now. How did she keep ending up surrounded by cold, white walls that offered no comfort at all?

Perhaps the key to the door of the waiting room rested with another person entirely? What was the use in staying here, especially when her only visitor had come and gone in the blink of an eye as soon as she opened the door for him, sadly ensuring her own continued occupancy? She had shown him the way out; could someone else do the same for her?

Really, would it be so bad to give up? To leave the waiting room, to quit endlessly waiting and be happy with being just friends with Adrien? To find more with another person instead? Maybe Luka? She thought he might be interested; he had dropped a hint or two earlier, about having a new song to write. But would that be fair to him? Would it be fair to her?

Unbidden, and frankly unwelcome, another face floated into her vision, one with sparkling, mischievous green eyes, blond hair, and a knowing smirk covering the lower half of his face. Stupid, flirty, cat. She pushed that image out of her mind, forcefully. He was just a flirt. Leaving the waiting room with him would surely plunk her down in heartbreak, wouldn't it?

Ugh. She groaned aloud and dropped her head into her hands. Why did this have to be so hard? If she just left, ran off screaming from this stupid ice rink and all the emotional drama, would there be anyone who'd care enough to come after her? Maybe Alya and the girls had been right, and this whole idea could end in no other way than disaster. What had she been thinking?

Her head snapped up from her defeated thoughts at a soft inquiry. Wait. Was that Adrien's voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door? He came to check on her? He left his _date_, for her?

What was she supposed to do with _that_?


	2. Dress Rehearsal

**Author's Note: This particular chapter is also a combination of several prompts, but much fluffier, more what I was wanting to write than how the last chapter turned out. I'm picturing this as happening a couple years after leaving Francoise Dupont; all four are still close friends and hang out regularly. These prompts were a bit more spaced out with one being from the end of last week and then jumping to the first three of next week. I'm splitting the difference by posting it now.**

**A word of warning: this one got away from me a bit and became much longer than I originally intended. I ultimately decided to leave it as a one shot, even with more plot bunnies bouncing around my brain—one day I may revisit it, however. Also, while I am a home sewer, my knowledge of the fashion industry, shows, etc., is limited. Mistakes are all mine; I hope they don't interfere with the story I wanted to tell.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

"Do you think he'd do it, Alya?"

"Girl, you know we'd both do anything to help you out, but there's no way he can be in two places at the same time. You've given him a huge opportunity by suggesting him to DJ the event and he's already working on it, just like you've been working on your designs. But he can't model, too."

Adrien arrived at the table holding a cup of coffee in each hand. As he slid into the booth next to Marinette, he passed hers into her waiting hands.

"Who? Model what?"

"Marinette was hoping Nino would be able to model her men's design for the upcoming show, but she should've thought of that before she recommended him as DJ to the organizer."

Marinette shrugged. "He fits better as the DJ anyway." She sighed. "I guess I can ask around and see if anyone has a spare brother or some other relative I could borrow."

Adrien looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Um, Marinette, you do know I have modeling experience, right?"

She blushed. "Of course, I do. I also know you have a life, and you've finally been able to start doing what you want to with it. I don't want you to get sucked back into that world because you're trying to help me. And it's not like it's a big show or anything, but the opportunity to showcase both a male and female garment for designers still in school is too good to pass up."

"So, what's the problem? There should be plenty of models available, right? It's not like it's fashion week."

"To keep things fair, the rules for this particular show state all designers must model their own clothes for their gender, then find a volunteer counterpart to model the accompanying design. No payment is allowed."

"In that case, I'm your volunteer." He took a sip of his coffee, matter firmly settled in his mind.

"See? Problem solved," Alya agreed.

"Adrien, you're busy, and I don't want to put you to the trouble—"

"Marinette, stop. It's not like I'm going to have to do a lot for it. You'll need to get my measurements, we'll have a few fittings, then the day of the show. It's not like I'm doing photo shoots for all of the accompanying promotional material or anything."

"But, Adrien—"

"Please? You're always doing stuff for us, Mari. Let me help you out this time?"

She smiled softly, but her cheeks were turning pink and, strangely, she wasn't meeting his gaze anymore. Nino arrived at the table with his and Alya's coffees.

"What'd I miss?"

"Marinette was trying to give Adrien an out so he doesn't feel obligated to model for her show."

"Dude, you'd be the perfect groom for Marinette!"

Adrien froze, eyes locked on Nino. "Groom?"

She was definitely looking anywhere but Adrien now. "Uh, yeah. That's what I was trying to tell you. It's a bridal showcase, wedding dresses and connected groom attire. The show is an opportunity to wow design houses with stuff we'd otherwise never get to exhibit until much later in our careers."

"That's a fantastic idea. I'm glad I can help, Marinette. Really. What are you so worried about?"

"Well, won't that be a bit, I don't know, awkward? Over the years, we've been—uh—linked several times. And it's not like this is for the Gabriel line and you're expected to do it for the family business. You'd be modelling the groom's tuxedo as a favor to me, unpaid, I'll be in the wedding gown, pictures will be taken for portfolios—" she trailed off, then as an afterthought, almost inaudibly, continued, "rumors, tabloids, and 'Adrien's Girlfriend' headlines all over again."

"Oh. I get it. Look, if you'd rather I not do it, I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"

"No! No, that's not it. I just figured you'd prefer to avoid publicity of that kind again."

"Marinette, I'm used to it. They are always trying to attach me to someone." He laughed. "Remember when the tabloids tried to put me and Alya together?"

Nino groaned. "Dude. Don't remind me." He tightened his grip on Alya's shoulder.

"Sorry. The point us, it doesn't bother me, and there's no one else for it to upset if we're linked in that way, except you. Wait, are you seeing someone we don't know about? Someone who might be jealous if those stories started up again?" he teased, nudging her shoulder with his own.

She blushed again, but laughed lightly. "Nope, not me."

"Then it's settled. You have your groom."

* * *

At first, they all got together and she ran her designs by them, fine tuning her best ideas even further, just as they all gave Nino some feedback on his playlist. But once the design was set and it came time to actually create the garments, Nino and Alya weren't able to help any more than she or Adrien could tell Nino how to fix the part of the program that wasn't coming together the way he wanted.

She and Adrien set up a weekly time that worked with both of them that he could come by the bakery and she could do whatever she needed to do in order for the tux to be ready for the show. The system worked well for them: it got Adrien out of his lonely apartment for a while and into the homey atmosphere he always enjoyed at Marinette's, casually visiting with her parents for a bit before they headed upstairs to get to work. And since the supplies and garments in progress stayed in her room turned sewing studio, everything she needed was at hand, nothing forgotten or damaged in transit.

Marinette was doubly thankful they had decided to plan something separately that first Thursday evening Adrien came by after work. While both she and Adrien were familiar and comfortable with the process from years of designing and modeling, having an audience as she measured him for the project would have been awkward at best. Alya's snickers and snorts would have surely sent her cheeks into shades of red they hadn't seen in years.

"I'm sorry you have to do all this extra work, Marinette," he said as he shrugged out of his suit jacket.

"What do you mean? This is all part of the process." She stood next to him with a slightly confused look, pencil and paper nearby, tape measure in hand.

"Yeah, but since I haven't modeled in months, I couldn't just give you my stats and eliminate this part."

"Well, that is true, Adrien. It wasn't very considerate of you to drop your modeling career to pursue your own dreams, not knowing that I'd need a current stat sheet for you six months later."

His slightly shocked expression faded as he realized she was teasing him. It had been happening with increasing frequency lately, and he found he loved those moments when she was confident, tossing just a little bit of sass his way. After years of growing closer, it seemed she had finally been able to drop all the walls and treat him no differently than anyone else in their tight group.

"Seriously, Adrien," she began, "I appreciate your taking the time to do this for me. I know how long a process it was for you to get away, and I still feel bad that you're doing this now. I'm sorry for dragging you into this." Her tape measure seemed to captivate her gaze as she fiddled with it in her hands.

Adrien reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes back up to his. "Mari. I want to do this. There was no dragging so no apologies are allowed. Besides, we haven't had a ton of time together lately and we can use this as an excuse to catch up, right?"

She smiled. "Thanks, Adrien." She gestured to his tie. "Make yourself comfortable. Then I can strangle you."

He chuckled lightly. "Taskmaster. Already down to business, huh?" He loosened and removed his tie, then undid the top couple buttons on his shirt.

She stepped in front of him and wrapped the tape measure around his neck, lightly brushing his hair aside as she did so. Her touch was soft and fingers warm, unlike some of his more unpleasant experiences in the past where the other person forgot he was a human being rather than a plastic mannequin. She wrote down the number, then moved on to his sleeve. He left her to complete the other measurements in silence, unwilling to disturb her system. Then she stood in front of him again and wrapped it around his shoulders. Once she had what she needed there, she met his eyes with a small smile.

"Just a couple more."

He automatically raised his arms out of years of habit. She quickly wrapped the tape around his hips, waist, then chest, trying desperately to keep down the giggle her 15-year-old self could not have contained at the thought of repeatedly wrapping her arms around him. She inhaled deeply and wrote down the numbers, trying to bring herself under control.

Seriously. She should be beyond this at nearly 22, especially considering her extensive experience with fitting handsome models. Besides, they were friends and had hugged plenty of times over the years. Why was her face heating up? Drat her fair skin, anyway; she could never hide a blush!

Under her breath, quietly enough that he could hear her mumbling but not understand any of the words, she gave herself a stern talking-to. "The only reason this is awkward is you, Marinette. Get a grip!" Before he could ask her to repeat herself, in a moment too familiar to be appreciated, she reverted back to her teenaged clumsiness and literally tripped over Adrien's feet as she tried to get some space and regain her equilibrium.

"Woah, there!"

He caught her as she tripped backwards, pulling her close to his chest and steadying them both. She forgot to breathe for a moment, then her face was on fire. Reminiscent of his own awkward years, Adrien moved one hand from her waist and rubbed the back of his neck. "You all right? For a moment there, that felt just like old times, didn't it?"

He smiled as he said it, removing any sting of embarrassment those words might have otherwise caused.

* * *

They fell into something of a routine in the weeks that followed. Sometimes she only needed him for a few minutes and then they visited with a couple croissants between them. More often, he'd hang around while she adjusted something about the tuxedo, allowing her to refit it, if necessary, during the same visit.

Once the tuxedo was complete, Adrien found excuses to come by during their scheduled time anyway. He found he liked having a standing date with his friend, and she didn't seem to mind his being there. Sometimes she'd ask for his opinion on the embroidery of the gown or how the draping looked to the male eye; other times he'd read a book or work on his computer, content to sit in the same room with her when he had nothing to offer but his company.

Then there were the nights he had to save her from herself, firing up Ultimate Mecha Strike and playing a few rounds after Marinette became frustrated with an aspect of her design or the way it was coming together. Adrien worried that she was about to do some serious damage to the dress if he didn't distract her for a while, and only his pride was injured if he allowed her to take out her frustrations on a mechanized fighter. And if that didn't work, a brisk walk in the evening air near the Seine seemed to clear the cobwebs enough she could come at things with a fresh perspective later.

One such evening, they had been walking longer than normal and she was still a frustrated mess. Coming up on an empty bench, Adrien steered her to sit and then moved behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he began to work at the knots he had known would be there.

"All right, Mari. Out with it. Why is everything suddenly not enough? Your dress is gorgeous and you were satisfied with the progress this time last week. What happened?"

She groaned. "They set the order. Adrien, I'm closing the show."

His hands stilled. "That's fabulous!" He wanted to jump up and down, so why wasn't she thrilled? He began massaging again, giving her the space to answer his silent question.

"Well, it was mostly a random draw once seniority was taken into account. But now there's so much more pressure with me in that spot! The expectations will be higher and I don't know that the design is good enough. What if I fall short after they see what everyone else has created? It's too late to scrap it and start over!"

Adrien moved to sit down beside her without breaking contact. "Marinette." He turned her shoulders to face him on the bench. "Marinette?"

She looked at him, miserable.

"Your design is phenomenal. Randomly selected or not, it deserves the closing spot."

"How can you say that? You haven't seen the others."

"No, I haven't. I'm comparing it with the professional ones I've seen exhibited in the last season or two. Trust me. It's worthy of it. You've poured your heart into that gown, Marinette, and it shows. It's extraordinary. Like its designer."

Her eyes met his and the tears began spilling over. He moved his hands up to cup her face, brushing the moisture away with his thumbs.

He pulled her in for a hug, one arm around her back, the other hand at the base of her head, anchoring her to him. She inhaled against him and mumbled a quiet, "thank you," into his chest. He held her close for a minute, trying to infuse some of his calm into her. Finally, he rose and reached his hands down to hers, pulling her to a stand. "Come on." He tugged her gently, only releasing one hand as he started walking. "This calls for a celebration."

* * *

A couple weeks after that, the four got together again. Marinette and Nino both needed to get out of their heads for a bit and Alya took matters into her own hands. She only called Marinette once there was too little time for her to escape the plans she'd made, over a week ago, without her friend's knowledge.

"No way, Girl. Adrien says it's gorgeous and definitely done. No more tweaking allowed. I told Nino the same about his soundtrack. Besides, if you take a break for one night, you'll be able to give it a final once-over with a clear head before Saturday. You deserve it. We all do."

Knowing she couldn't fight when Alya brought up the group dynamic, she gave in. "You're right."

"Of course I am. Adrien will be there to pick you up at 6pm, as he leaves work."

"What? Alya—"

"Don't 'Alya' me! He said it's habit to stop by your place on his way home on Thursdays. That he's been doing it for months, Marinette. Months. Why haven't you said anything about it to me?"

Marinette sighed. "For just this reason. I knew you'd try to make it something more than it is. He's been helping me for the show. That's all."

"Every week? Marinette, the tux was done more than a month ago. What's he been doing since?"

"He gave feedback on the dress, a male perspective."

"And?"

"And?"

"And?" She drew the word out.

"And what?"

"And what else? Surely it didn't take hours every week to tell you his opinion."

"We talked. Took walks. Played games. He kept me from going crazy over the designs, Alya."

"I knew it! Something has changed between you, hasn't it?"

"No, Alya." Another sigh. "We're friends. Like always. And that's okay. Please, leave it be."

"Marinette? Are you okay?"

"Fine. I guess—it's just—after all this time, I thought I was over him. But the feelings, they're still there, you know? They were buried, deep, but they weren't gone at all."

"I will kill him," Alya growled, low and menacing.

A weak chuckle from the other end of the phone. "Thanks for the offer, but it's unnecessary. He doesn't know, Alya. And it's better that way. But, given that he'll be here in less than an hour, I'd better put myself back together before he arrives."

"I'll call and cancel, Marinette. If that's what you want."

"No. It'll be good. You're right. We've all been running crazy. Time to have some fun together."

* * *

The day of the show arrived and Marinette was a bundle of nerves. Everything was ready, she thought she'd planned for all possible contingencies, but this could be her big break and she didn't want anything to go wrong.

Adrien reached across the backseat of the car and pried her hands apart; they had been clenched together so tightly her knuckles had turned white. He massaged them and spoke gently.

"Relax, Marinette. Breathe. Your design is amazing and will be recognized as such." He rubbed circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs. "Trust me. I know a thing or two about fashion. Just try to enjoy this." His grin was wide as he winked at her.

She smiled. "Thanks, Adrien. I'll try." She took a deep breath and focused as they arrived at the venue, Nino dropping the other three off at the door, where they separated briefly for makeup and to change into Marinette's designs.

Once he finished dressing, Adrien made his way to where Alya was helping Marinette and tapped on the metal frame that supported the dressing room curtains to let them know he was ready. "Come on in, we're decent."

"Marinette—" He pulled the curtain to the side, and stepped in. Adrien tried to clear his throat so he could speak, but a rock seemed lodged there.

Alya watched his reaction and smirked from behind her friend. Marinette was looking down as Alya fastened the final buttons at the back of the high collar. "Hey, Adrien," she greeted, amusement evident as she patted Marinette's shoulders, letting her know she was finished with the buttons.

At the unspoken signal, she looked up with a soft smile and lifted her blue eyes to Adrien's. It was like a punch to his midsection, forcing the air from his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

They'd been friends for a long time; she knew and understood him better than anyone, and he hoped she felt the same about him. Marinette had always had a heart of gold and he'd witnessed her selflessness over and over. She made him laugh, stuck by him when things were hard, agonized with him over finals, and shipped their best friends longer than he had.

And all during that time, he had also objectively acknowledged that she was cute, but how had he missed the fact that she had become a stunningly beautiful woman?

He'd seen her dressed up for formal occasions and wearing her own creations countless times before. Even this particular dress was familiar, observing it in various stages of completion over the past few months. But this, seeing the wedding gown on his long-time friend rather than her dress form, this was entirely different. This disabled coherent thought.

He wasn't sure exactly what was going on but he had never felt like this before, heart racing and head spinning, as if he'd been hit in the head by a blunt object after finishing a marathon. And yet, the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant, though he definitely felt strange.

Like pieces of a puzzle that suddenly fit together after hours of staring, he finally understood. He had no idea how long it had been true but he was now certain beyond any doubt. He was in love with his best friend.

With perfect clarity he now realized that his weekly date—yes, date—with his friend—well, he was going to have to adjust that relationship status soon—was not to ease his loneliness, but because he needed to be around Marinette specifically, to be in the same room with her, even if they weren't directly interacting every minute.

It was also why he sat closer to her now than he once did.

Why he'd send a random text during the day, or sometimes call her when a text would've really been enough, just to hear her voice.

Why he looked for opportunities to touch her, placing his hand at her back as she preceded him through the door, or helping her on with her coat and lifting her hair from under the collar before she stepped away.

Why he didn't let go of her hand a couple weeks ago after they'd left the park bench to find ice cream.

Why he had been working up to asking her about another time each week they could hang out, maybe involving dinner, because seeing her once a week wasn't enough. His apartment felt somehow colder and emptier than ever before.

Why, in a setting that had always been purely business before, very unprofessional feelings of fierce jealousy and paralyzing fear battled for dominance at the thought of her wearing this dress and walking toward any man except him.

All of these thoughts roared through his mind while Marinette worried about his unblinking, slack-jawed stare. He hadn't moved in almost a minute. He was still breathing, wasn't he?

"Adrien? What's wrong?" Marinette's nerves were already on edge and his strange behavior seemed to come out of nowhere.

"No—nothing. Sorry. Mar—Marinette. You look, a—amazing. I mean, you're stunning. Uh—the d—dress, I'm s—stunned. Not that you don't look fantastic, I mean—" Why couldn't he speak right?

Marinette still looked concerned. Alya looked like she was going to explode from holding back her laughter at how their teenaged selves seemed to have reversed with Marinette now the calm, collected one.

He shook his head to try and clear it. If anything, it rattled his brain further.

Marinette reached down and took his hand, the contact sending a jolt through his arm, which immediately drew his attention down to their hands. "Hey, Adrien? Are you sure you're all right? You look like you should sit down or something." She tried to draw him over to the single folding chair in the makeshift dressing room.

"N—no." He tried clearing his throat again. "No. I'm all right. Thanks, Mari." He lifted his eyes to her face. Her concern for him was plain and he felt terrible for scaring her. She had plenty of pressure on her with this show, and in typical Marinette fashion, she was more concerned about him.

He squeezed her hand and released it, but immediately wanted to grab hold of her again, feeling like he'd lost his grip on something infinitely precious by letting her go. Inhaling a deep breath, he summoned a smile, but she didn't seem convinced.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I am." He nodded for emphasis. "Now, let's see the finished product." He motioned for her to turn around, hoping to get her piercing gaze off him long enough to unscramble his brain.

She turned slowly and allowed him to take in the details of the gown she had labored so hard on for the past months. The high mandarin collar was exquisitely embroidered with red beadwork down to her collarbone, then swirled into a swooping edging from the high waist down to the train, circling all the way around and then back up the other side in a symmetrical fashion.

Her hair was up in a graceful bun, secured with hair sticks dangling red and black beadwork. The black became invisible against her midnight hair and it left the illusion of red sparkles floating behind her, echoing the embellishment of the dress beautifully.

"Marinette, you're absolutely breathtaking."

"Why, thank you. You clean up rather nicely, yourself, Mr. Agreste," she replied, a dusting of pink across her cheeks.

His own black tuxedo was rather understated in comparison, but the matching red swirl pattern on the vest was just as striking on the black as it proved to be on the white of her gown. The attire for both the bride and groom tied together in a wonderful contrast of dark and light, the red accents linking them visually. Her ensemble was exquisite, and a nod to both sides of her heritage that blended into a cohesive, beautiful whole, much like the woman before him.

"Ready for staging?" she asked.

"Lead the way." There, that sounded normal. His formal bow may have been a bit over the top, but maybe some grand gestures would be appropriate now that he understood himself a little better.

Alya smirked again, but rather than walking past him after Marinette, she bumped her shoulder into his, then looked up at him with a knowing gleam sparking in her eyes.

"You all right?"

"I will be. But can you answer a question for me, Alya? How long have I been an oblivious, world-class idiot?"

"Long enough, my friend, long enough. But things are different now, aren't they?"

"Very."

How long would it take to convince Marinette that being just her friend would never again be enough for him?


	3. Weather and Other Surprises

**Author's Note: Turns out revisiting it didn't take long at all. This chapter picks up at the end of the previous one, so I guess this is the final part of a two shot. The prompts that got me thinking along these lines were actually from a couple days ago, and I couldn't resist a nod to the umbrella scene.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

"Adrien?"

Of all the times for him to show up unannounced, it had to be today? She had been running late this morning and left with no umbrella. That would usually not be a big deal, but in an effort to distract herself from Adrien not coming by on Thursday evenings anymore, she had decided to walk home from her errands and deliberately not be anywhere near the bakery at the time he had been arriving. That's when the unexpected deluge literally soaked her.

Now she stood at the door to her living room looking like a drowned rat while Adrien sat on her couch.

"Marinette? Oh! You got caught in that?" He stood, but looked unsure what else to do.

She shrugged. "Yeah. I wasn't expecting you. Have you been waiting for me long?"

"No. I arrived not long before the rain started, and your mom said I could wait for you up here. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is! You don't have to clear a visit first, you're always welcome. You just have to take me as you find me." She tried to chuckle as she gestured to her sodden state, but the cold was setting in.

He moved his hand to the back of his neck. Something must be on his mind. "You have some time?"

"Sure! But can you give me a few minutes? I'm a bit chilly."

He noticed she was actually shaking. "Mari! I'm sorry! I should have realized. I'll wait here for you. Take your time, no rush."

She headed quickly up the stairs to her room for a towel and some dry clothes. The few minutes had done their damage, however, and she felt chilled to the bone. Forgoing cute for warm, Marinette returned to the living room in fuzzy pants and a black and green hoodie.

Adrien chuckled when he saw her. "You do know it's spring, right? There's no snow out there."

"Shut-up. Once I get cold, it's hard to get warm again." She plunked down on the couch, tucking her legs under her.

Sabine and Tom came in the front door themselves, then. "Oh, Marinette. We didn't see you arrive. You got caught in the rain again, didn't you? Why didn't you just wait it out somewhere?"

"Hey Maman, Papa. I was actually walking through the park when it hit. By the time I got anywhere I would have been able to wait it out, I was already soaked through, so I just came the rest of the way home."

"Well, let me get you some tea, then. Adrien, can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

They made small talk while her mom got the tea. Tom placed a plate with a few bakery leftovers on the table in front of the couch, then sat down and asked Adrien what his impressions of that weekend's fashion show were.

"Marinette completely stole the show. Her designs were far and away the best received. I would expect offers to roll in by the dozens."

Tom smiled. "Sabine and I agree, though Marinette thinks it's because we're her parents."

"It _is_ because you're my parents. And you're my friend. You have to say those things." Marinette was blushing.

As they all chatted and Marinette drank her tea, it felt like a continuation of the previous weeks. But for his part, there was an underlying tension that he needed to address, and it all revolved around one word: friend. It had such a positive meaning to all his interactions with Marinette, but now, it also served as a reminder of the distance he wanted to eliminate between them.

He could barely stand staying away from her over the past few days, but he knew the exhaustion and nervous energy from the show would need to be dealt with on her end before she'd be ready to hear what he had to say. Then he couldn't decide if he should call her or send a text to see if she wanted to meet him somewhere. Once he decided text might be best so he didn't start stuttering like he had last Saturday, he typed and erased what felt like thousands of messages and never sent a single one.

Finally, he decided to let the car take him to the place where he most wanted to be on the night he was used to coming. He had to make a move or he'd lose his mind.

Now, after waiting for her to change and then visiting with her parents for half an hour, Adrien wondered if he'd be too obvious by asking to speak with her alone.

"Well, we're going to leave you to whatever it is you have planned. I'm taking my wife out to a movie tonight." Tom rose from the chair he'd been occupying.

Sabine looked surprised, but only for a moment. "I'll grab my jacket, and an umbrella, just in case." The last part was said with a wink.

* * *

"How's your week been?"

"Good. Less stress." She smiled. "But almost too quiet. I'm glad you stopped by. So, what's up?"

He turned to face her and noticed she was still shivering, though less noticeably than before. Grabbing the blanket from where it draped over the couch behind him, he wrapped it over her shoulders and tucked it in around her legs.

Unable to longer resist the need to be close to her, and feeling just a little bit bold, he sat back down and pulled her to his side, rubbing his hand up and down her arm as if it would help the blanket do its job more effectively.

"Better?"

She hesitated, holding herself rigid for a minute, then finally relaxed into him. "Mmmhmmm. Getting toasty, now."

"Good. As for why I'm here, I missed you."

"Missed me? We were together all day Saturday for the show, and we've been together on Thursdays for weeks. When would you have time to miss me?" she chuckled.

"See, that's the exact reason I wanted to see you. The idea of not coming by tonight just because there was no upcoming show wasn't working for me. I needed my weekly dose of Marinette. I've come to depend on it, you know. On you."

She lifted her head from his chest, and looked at his face.

He smiled down at her, then used his hand to guide her head back to his chest, where he gently ran his fingers through her mostly dry hair. The contact had a hypnotic effect on both of them and she unconsciously leaned even further into Adrien.

Suddenly his heartbeat ramped up for no reason she could pinpoint, though the evidence was pounding in her ear.

"Marinette, I was wondering—well, hoping—you see, on Saturday, at the show—I hadn't really considered so many things before—but it all hit me at once—and I had to process what was suddenly so new but—so right—and really—not all that different—but it is, so I thought that I should at least talk to you about it—and—and—"

She untangled herself from the blanket and put her hand on Adrien's chest, raising her head again, giving him her full attention. "Adrien? You're sounding a bit like you did on Saturday. Is everything okay?"

He brought his hand up and covered her much smaller one where it rested on him. He inhaled. And exhaled. Maybe he should have rehearsed what he wanted to say before driving over here, but the need to be with her again overrode his thought processes.

"Have you ever had a moment of clarity, where you open your eyes and see what's right in front of you? Where suddenly everything makes perfect sense and you realize how much time you've wasted being oblivious? And you can't wait to fix that? That's what happened Saturday."

"Okay—"

"You're lost, huh?"

She nodded.

"Let me try the direct approach, then, Mari." He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and looking deep into her eyes.

"I realized in that moment I saw you wearing that gown that my best friend had somehow sneaked in and stolen my heart. I don't know when you did it. Looking back, my guess is I've loved you for a really long time." He smiled softly.

She looked at him, stunned. "Are you—are you s—sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything, Marinette."

She squeaked, or hiccupped, he wasn't sure exactly what to call the sound she made. Then he watched her eyes fill with tears.

Had he ruined them, then? She couldn't see him that way, and now he'd lost her? He really should have thought more about what he was going to say and how to break this drastic change to her. He'd had a few days to process it and she—

Then, she laughed, clear, full of joy. And threw herself into his arms. Now it was his turn to be shocked.

But he recovered quickly enough to wrap his arms around her and hold on for as long as she'd let him. He inhaled the scent that was uniquely Marinette, a cross between baked goods and fabric, with a little spring rain thrown in tonight after her impromptu shower outside.

After a minute of holding her, she leaned back in his arms, a smile lighting her face.

"Am I dreaming? Did I contract a fever from the rain? Did I understand you correctly?" The last question caused a panicked look to rise in her eyes and the smile to fall from her lips. "Oh, no. I didn't, did I?"

She tried to scramble back from him, but he caught her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I love you. Is that what you understood?"

She nodded. "It is, but—humor me. Please. How?"

"How? How could I not? Because you're the single most wonderful person I've ever known. You're patient, kind, generous, loyal, talented, courageous, and strong. You love your friends and family fiercely, there's nothing you won't do for them. And all of that is packaged in an incredibly beautiful woman I have had the privilege of growing closer to for years."

She smiled with tears filling her eyes again. "You answered why. Not how. I—I loved hearing it, don't get me wrong, but I need to hear how."

"How? Mari, I don't understand. I want to, but this is all so new to me, I'm not sure exactly what you're asking."

"How do you love me, Adrien? Like a friend—or—"

The light came on. "Oh, Mari, so, so much more than a friend, though I haven't known it for very long."

He smiled and drew her near with a hand at the back of her neck, gently, slowly. "You've been in my heart for a long time, but that's not what I said. I said you'd stolen it, remember? I don't even have the thing anymore."

He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"That dress, Mari." He released a deep sigh. "Seeing you in that dress short-circuited my brain. All I could do was feel, wave after wave of emotion. I couldn't even speak right, let alone try to convince myself again that friendship was what I was feeling.

"I didn't sleep a whole lot on Saturday night. I went over so many things in my mind, trying to figure out exactly when my feelings changed. I still don't know the answer to that, but I know it has been a while. I've—um—been comparing other girls to you for—well—years. That's why I haven't been dating much. No one could match my friend, so why try to form an attachment less than what I already had? No one seemed worth the effort.

"Sometime before dawn, it crystalized in my brain that the only reason I haven't pursued _you_, my best, closest friend, is fear. My mind kept you firmly in the safe place of 'friend' so I'd never have to endure the pain of losing you if things didn't work out. But—I want more. _Need_ more."

He pulled her even closer, resting his cheek against hers. Near her ear, he continued in a whisper. "Marinette, I've found you are the most important person in my life. I know it's a risk, but you're the only one I can imagine loving like this. Would you be willing to take a chance on me? On us?"

He pulled back slightly, then rubbed his nose against hers as their eyes fluttered closed. He was so close to her lips, his brain was starting to shut down. He heard her inhale, a little shakily, matching his own uneven breaths. "Can I show you what I found when I discovered my heart was missing?"

She nodded. "I wish you would. Maybe it's my heart. The last time I had it was another rainy day quite a few years ago. A new boy at school gave me his umbrella when I didn't have one, even after a misunderstanding that led me to say some horrible things to him."

He smiled, closing the remaining gap and bringing their lips gently together. The touch was soft at first, feather-light, and yet it was electric, bonding their hearts. How was it possible that something so simple could impact so deeply?

She brought her hands up to his shoulders and pulled him closer, her fingers finding the hair at the base of his neck. He happily wrapped his arms around her waist and reveled in how right she felt in his arms, as if she was always meant to be there.

Home. That was the feeling that encompassed this moment. And hope for what the future held for the two of them.

* * *

When Tom and Sabine returned several hours later, she was teasing him about the terrible movie he had dragged her to. "Really, that was the best they could do to save the world? I'm glad Paris had—"

"Shhhh!" Finger to his lips, Tom gestured to the couch where Marinette and Adrien were curled up together, wrapped in each other's arms, sound asleep with the TV playing a long forgotten binge of a show they hadn't really cared about.

Sabine smiled. "You were right. Looks like they did need to have a talk. Okay. The movie was a good idea after all, even if the plot wasn't." She pulled a blanket over the two of them and giggled quietly. She followed her husband back to their bedroom, leaving their two favorite people to some well-deserved rest.


	4. Powerless

**Author's Note: Ahhhh, Marichat May. I have been looking forward to this. Again, not sure how many prompts I will attempt, but I needed some laughter and sweet moments between these two. As with last month, this first one isn't particularly light, but it's where the prompt took me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

"Chat Noir? Is everything okay?" Her surprise at finding him on her balcony was obvious.

"Sure it is, Marinette. Why do you ask? Can't I stop by and visit the Princess in her tower, especially since I know she cannot leave it for a few days?"

"But the sun is still up. I thought you only prowled at night."

"Oh, well—"

"And why didn't you let me know you were here? How long have you been waiting around, anyway?"

He thought it best to keep it to himself that he'd been up here since following her and her parents home from the emergency room.

"Chat?"

"Sorry, Princess. Not long." Two or three hours, tops. He'd lost track of time.

Her eyes softened. "This is about earlier, isn't it? I'm fine, really. No lasting effects, just a bump. The doctor says I get the rest of the week off school but that's not nearly as much fun since I can't play Ultimate Mecha Strike for 48 hours, either." She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout.

Chat Noir chuckled. "Bored already?"

"Maybe a little." She lifted her watering can. "But, hey, I can catch up on all those things that never get done, right?"

"Aren't you supposed to be resting, Marinette?"

She looked at her feet. "Ummm, well, it's not _hard_ work or anything, right?"

He took the watering can from her hands and began the task himself. "Allow me. I'm here often enough that I enjoy your plants almost as much as you do." He winked at her as he smiled, then pointed to her deck chair.

She obliged him, smiling slightly at his protective, though bossy, attitude. The late afternoon sun was still warm, and she closed her eyes against the light and let the pleasant heat relax her.

Now that her eyes weren't on him, he felt like he could ask the question that wouldn't let him leave, even after he saw she was indeed all right.

"Princess?"

"Hmmmm?" She felt too comfortable to attempt actual words at the moment.

"Why were you there?"

Her eyes flew open, then she groaned and covered her eyes with her hands.

"Marinette? You okay?" He froze, awaiting her answer.

"Yeah. The sun is brighter than I thought, though, and messing with my head. Can we go inside?"

"Of course." Ever the gentleman, he helped her stand and supported her as she entered her room through the trapdoor, always staying between her and the sunshine that had triggered the pain.

Once he had her at the chaise, he put a pillow behind her back and a blanket over her legs. "Need anything else?"

"I'm good, Chat."

Extending her hand to him, she pulled him to sit beside her, but he couldn't relax and held himself rigid.

"I'm really okay, you know," she said quietly.

He hesitantly lifted his hand, brushed a stray hair behind her ear, careful to avoid the bandage on her forehead, and cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

"Marinette, what were you doing there?"

He could see the battle playing on her face, but she wouldn't open either her eyes or her mouth. Why was she being so stubborn?

"Seriously. You have got to run the _other_ way, Princess."

"Chat-"

"I mean it!" He snapped, shocked at how loud his voice sounded to his own ears. That wouldn't help her headache. "Sorry. But, Princess, seeing you fly through the air like that, powerless to protect you—I—then that horrible sound as you hit—" His voice broke and he couldn't continue.

Just like he couldn't continue battling an akuma while Marinette lay in a crumpled heap. Regardless of the damage Hawkmoth might inflict through this latest villain before Ladybug's arrival, Chat's world stopped when she hit the ground and didn't move. He had to get her help, even if it meant a delay to the battle.

It had killed him to leave her in the care of the hospital, not knowing if she'd be all right, and return to his duties as a superhero. He had only been able to do so because he assumed Ladybug would need his help, and that her lucky charm would restore everything, including Marinette's consciousness, undoing the damage she had sustained when she got in the way of "Leveler."

Rather than speak, she adjusted her position and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

He nuzzled into her hair, squeezing her tightly. Inhaling her scent, he reminded himself she was okay. This time.

"Please, Princess. I couldn't stand losing you. Let Ladybug and me handle it. We're the superheroes, you know. You don't have any powers."

"But what if she can't make it? Like today? Did she ever show up, anyway?"

He wasn't sure what had happened to keep her away. But, just like she'd had to handle things without his help before, he'd made do. The black and purple butterfly in the jar could be purified when they met up for patrol. And he'd do his best not to blame his lady when he saw her. Marinette was okay. Even without the miraculous cure.

"I can handle it, Marinette. What I can't deal with is worrying about you. The suits help protect us. Unless you have one you've been working on with special armor properties— Never mind. Scratch that. You'd try designing one, I'm sure." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, unthinking. "Please, Princess, promise me you'll stay away."

She just hugged him tighter. He wanted to force a promise from her, but the fight left him, as if she'd pulled it out by her close proximity. Maybe Marinette had some powers of her own after all.

She was here, she was safe. Keeping her that way would be the focus of another day.


	5. Steam Chat

**Author's Note: This particular story changed dramatically from what I initially intended, but I'm happy with how it turned out; the different elements were fun to play with, as was seeing how the same basic characters would respond to drastically different circumstances. A departure from any other writing I have attempted before, both in the Victorian time period and the fact that it is definitely AU, makes putting this out there exhilarating and terrifying, and hopefully worth the effort. Since tight writing is apparently not my thing, this is the first of three connected prompts that create one story (so much for the one shot nature of the collection).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

Well, now. This didn't happen every day, did it?

Just when Marinette Dupain-Cheng felt her mind might cease functioning out of sheer boredom, a walk through the garden at night yielded a pair of black boots, attached to an unconscious and unknown man. At least she assumed she didn't know him; his face was covered by a mask. Was this man a thief, perhaps? But surely a man bent on criminal activity would not choose to nap as he waited for a household to slip into slumber themselves?

Perhaps she should have been more afraid, but frankly, since coming to England a year ago, the stifling expectations of a society that insisted she was merely a beautiful object to be won and then displayed were begging to be left behind in an adventure she could take with her into an otherwise mundane-looking future. Her father inheriting land and money was supposed to be a blessing, but Marinette felt more constricted by that money, and the unreasonable expectations that attended it, than the corset she wore.

She nudged the foot with her own. A low groan rose from the ground. She couldn't detect a smell of alcohol, though an overindulgent party guest seemed the most plausible explanation for a masked man in her bushes. Perhaps he had a medical issue?

She knelt down to take a closer look. He was a younger man and seemed in good physical condition, despite the cut on his forehead that was bleeding into his hair. Her fingers reached toward the cat façade to make sure it was not hiding further injury.

A hand suddenly gripped her wrist, preventing her from disturbing the mask. She gasped sharply, but held back the scream, at least for the moment.

"Do you require assistance?" Even to her own ears, she sounded remarkably calm. Excellent. Show no fear.

Another groan emerged as the cat-man's eyes fluttered open, the focusing pupils surrounded by startling green irises in a vibrant hue she had rarely seen. He released her wrist and rose to a sitting position, hands now gripping either side of his head.

"No, thank you. I merely need a moment, please." He ran his fingers gingerly through his disheveled blond hair, then cautiously stood to his feet.

"You're dizzy? Perhaps the cut on your head should receive attention. May I?"

She removed her handkerchief from its place at her wrist and gently dabbed at the wound. His eyes widened as the square of fabric came away with a dark blot. "I didn't even feel that." He took the elegantly edged item from her hand. "I fear it's ruined now. My thanks, and my apologies." He once again pressed it to his head.

"It does not matter. It has now served its purpose."

He smiled, then began looking around the bushes he had been near. Finally finding what he sought, he bent to retrieve what appeared to be a short metal stick from the ground, moonlight glinting as he slid it into his coat.

"I appear to be lost. I do not believe we are acquainted, Miss—"

"Dupain-Cheng. And you are in _my_ garden."

"I apologize for the intrusion, Miss Dupain-Cheng. My invention," he patted his pocket, "still has a few problems that need to be worked out." He bowed from the waist. "Mr. Ad—Chat Noir, at your service."

She quirked a dark eyebrow. While the name fit the man dressed in black, it could hardly be his real name. Was he indeed bent on mischief, then?

"Chat Noir," she repeated, taking a step backward. "I see."

He smiled widely. "I assure you, I mean no harm. I really am an inventor, and my device did not perform as expected, which dropped me into your presence." He reached back into his coat, retrieving the item and holding it to her for inspection.

Really, this wasn't a good idea. Should someone happen to check on her and find her in the garden with any man, let alone one with whom she had had no proper introduction and who was wearing a mask, her reputation would be in fine tatters. But the cylindrical object glinted in the moonlight, beckoning her closer to see what it would reveal about itself and the man who held it.

Her bare hand grasped the metal, warm where it had nestled next to his body. Fanciful scrollwork looped and curled along its length, and a raised portion in the middle contained an oval and four smaller circles, arranged in what appeared to be the shape of a cat's paw. Depressing one of the buttons, she jumped when a quiet pop rapidly extended the cylinder.

Curiosity piqued, she couldn't resist asking the questions that sprang to mind, one after the other, not even giving the stranger time to respond before firing the next one at him, as if fearing he would refuse to answer if she didn't complete her queries before he began answering. "How does this work? What is its purpose, a weapon of some sort? And what does it have to do with you being in my garden after dark?"

He smiled at her barrage of words, but patiently began answering. "This device is for propulsion. When aimed at the ground, the button you activated causes a compressed spring to elongate my baton, pushing me into the air and over objects."

He pointed toward the paw pad once more. "And this one allows it to collapse again for easy transport." Depressing a different button than the one she had, the baton released a soft hiss. The strange cat then used one gloved finger to push the end back into the middle. Once again in its smallest state, the device extended mere inches beyond either side of her palm. Too large for her reticule, but he had already demonstrated it fit easily in a gentleman's coat pocket.

Intriguing. "And why would you create such an item? Why not just walk around an obstacle rather than attempt to fly over it?"

He smiled, pleasantly rather than condescendingly. "Mostly because it interested me and I wanted to see if I could do it. I got the idea from a sporting event I observed in my travels, and modified it for higher and longer lengths. Vaulting over your walled garden should have been possible, but something did not operate correctly, and I ended up in the middle as opposed to the other side. My cat grace seems to have fled as I landed." He gestured toward his forehead.

She looked up at this man who called himself Chat Noir. "I see. Well, as you appear to be what you say you are, why are you unwilling to say who you are?"

"Milady, as this hardly qualifies as a proper introduction, perhaps my name would be best saved for such a time."

"Very well." She handed him his invention, perhaps with more force than was warranted, but his reluctance to share his name raised her suspicions. "That being the case, I shall bid you a good night." She turned toward the house and walked away.

His chuckle behind her showed he was unoffended. And if the corners of her mouth turned upward as she traversed the path, he wouldn't see it or know she enjoyed the melodic sound, or that she regretted that he would leave behind no other name than he already had.

* * *

The next morning proved her assumption correct that he had not been put off by her departure in a pique. A small bouquet arrived, white bellflowers surrounding pink ranunculus. A rather elegant thank you for her minimal efforts of the last evening, and a flirtatious one as well. He thought her dazzling, did he? Or maybe he simply liked the flowers and had no intention of sending a message with his choice of blooms.

If it was intentional, the sentiment was sweet, but they would likely never meet again. A pity, too. He seemed to be the only man remotely near her own age she had yet met who answered her questions with patience and intelligence, rather than shock and uncomfortable horror at a woman who thought beyond the next ball. Then again, he had sustained a head injury; perhaps he was not quite himself.

On closer inspection, Marinette noticed that what she had assumed to be a white ribbon holding the bouquet together was actually a fine, white linen handkerchief, presumably to replace the one she had used on his forehead.

She placed the flowers in a vase, then unfolded and examined the handkerchief more closely. In one corner was a white paw symbol, identical to the layout of the buttons that had been on his invention. So the cat theme was pervasive with him, was it? And yet it would not catch the attention of a disinterested observer; the white embroidery on expensive white linen was fine workmanship, detailed without being gauche, and obviously an accessory belonging to a gentleman.

The mystery deepened. What gentleman invented vaulting poles and tested them at night, in a cat disguise, no less?


	6. Chat and Bug

**Author's Note: This chapter continues the Victorian AU prompt and combines it with the next, mask ball. I suppose I should note that I couldn't find anything on proper introductions at a masked ball during the Victorian period (since they had technically fallen out of favor by that time, being replaced with "fancy dress balls" that involved costumes but not masks that hid identities), so I went with a best-guess kind of scenario.**

**Also, special thanks to mayuralover—her review of the previous chapter triggered a flash in my brain that helped me to polish this one and the next to a brighter shine. If you think reviews don't matter to authors or that they can't impact a story in a positive way, I assure you that they do.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

The mayor and Mrs. Bourgeois had decided that this ball had to be the event of the season, and if that meant going against prevailing opinion to ensure it would be talked about for weeks to come, so be it. Despite masquerades falling out of favor some years before, their daughter Chloe had declared it romantic and utterly necessary for her to enjoy the evening, and her parents agreed, provided that all guests were of the proper caliber. After all, scandal tainting the evening would be the wrong kind of talk to circulate after the party.

Chloe currently held court as "Queen Bee," surrounded by male admirers and young ladies who hoped to catch those men unfortunate enough to feel the sting of rejection. Adrien was convinced the masks were simply an excuse on Chloe's part for everyone to have to refer to her as royalty, since names were to remain secret until the dinner hour, even though as daughter of the hostess her identity was never in question.

The rules were apparently made to be broken, however, and not just by the self-proclaimed queen. In the weeks leading up to the event, several women had given him detailed descriptions of their intended costumes and masks in the hopes that he would seek them out during the evening.

It was all rather exhausting. He'd much rather remain sequestered in his laboratory than politely discussing the weather with empty-headed women who could not hold his interest longer than a few minutes. They made their own interest plain, in socially acceptable ways, of course, and were doing so with increasing frequency.

Adrien's father had been patient up until present, giving him years to travel and then to "tinker" as he termed it. Now the patriarch of the Agreste family had determined it was high time his son and heir settled down and attended to familial obligations, finally delivering an ultimatum: enter the social scene and find a wife of his own choosing, or agree to unite the Agreste and Bourgeois families through marriage.

There had been no choice from that point forward. He wanted love, though he wasn't entirely sure it existed; at the very least, he desired the possibility of enjoying his life's companion. Chloe would only ensure he moved his laboratory from the spacious, well-lit room it currently occupied to a basement dungeon accessible only through secret passageways with complicated lever systems to protect him from her shrill demands and difficult presence.

No. Balls, calling, matchmaking mamas, and wading through scheming debutantes who only desired the prestige of his name and family fortune were preferable to a lifetime with the young woman his childhood friend had become.

And once he reached that conclusion, the social whirl of a London season happily accepted him into its fold, even without understanding his sudden change of heart at attending most of the balls to which he was invited. Most, but this one had been one he had determined to avoid, at least until he learned that a recent arrival to London had accepted, one Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her name stuck in his memory despite their brief meeting, and each moment he remembered continued to enchant him despite the fortnight that had passed.

He was taking a risk with this ball by forgoing a costume in favor of his alter-ego's disguise, but it was the only way he could think of to allow her to find him and know that he was indeed the same person.

Creating a different persona for his scientific endeavors had been his father's idea, claiming that those among their set would think him either non-conformist or insane should his preoccupation with science and invention come to light. So Adrien had agreed to keep his activities secret, testing his devices under cover of darkness and in disguise, thereby preserving the proper gentleman's image his father believed necessary.

It had become so ingrained in him that his identity and work must remain separate that he had refrained from giving the intriguing Miss Dupain-Cheng his real name, a decision he had regretted since leaving her garden; he found he wanted to know more of this woman who had completely captured his imagination.

Because, despite the hour and their unconventional meeting, she had not appeared afraid of him, nor had she been put off by his scientific conversation. There had been no fainting or fits of the vapors, and her interest seemed genuine. While he found her understanding of the generalities about his baton vault remarkable, his true surprise came from how attractive that made her to him.

As he had explained the device, he noticed the thoughtful expression in her blue eyes as she processed the information he shared. Her hair, though dark, shimmered as the moonlight glinted off its strands. Combined with her trim figure and petite height that made him want to shelter her, it registered with him later that this woman was striking in many ways.

In addition to her outer loveliness, his pocket even now held proof of her kind heart—her handkerchief still carried a faint bloodstain from that evening despite repeated washings. But he had never intended to return it. He replaced it with one bearing his scientific mark, a signature of sorts, and kept hers close to his heart as a reminder that a unique female existed within London's bounds and there may yet be hope for the kind of life he had dared to dream about, one with a woman who could be his equal and did not fear scientific pursuits for someone of his position.

She was intelligent, beautiful, and caring. For all these reasons, he wanted her to know who he was, allowing for a formal introduction once the masks were removed at the dinner hour. She had intrigued him far beyond any woman of his acquaintance, and if his father was to insist upon his marriage within the next year, she was easily the best candidate thus far.

Finding her, however, could be a problem. His costume would be familiar to her, but she was a complete mystery to him, at least as long as she remained masked. He could look for dark hair, which would eliminate maybe one third of the guests; beyond that, he'd have to get close enough to find blue eyes, and that without giving the wrong impression to ladies intent on catching the eye of passing gentlemen. It would not do to be rude and leave an unfavorable memory with the very woman he desired to impress.

Wandering through the crowd, he noticed several potential candidates. One wore a green and yellow gown, apparently designed to resemble a flower. As he drew closer, however, overhearing her insipid conversation immediately made her eye color irrelevant. Another young lady appeared to be dressed as a fox, but her eyes were brown rather than the blue he sought.

It was unavoidable that his travels across the ballroom required placing his name on several dance cards. He carefully guarded the dinner set, however. His goal was still to find Miss Dupain-Cheng and dance that with her, necessitating a formal introduction by their host or hostess before he escorted her in to dinner, enjoying even more time in her presence and determining if she was as captivating in the ballroom as she had been in the moonlight.

Familiar with the sensation of being watched, he immediately began searching for the person responsible once he sensed it. Normally, he would ignore it as he often found himself the object of attention as the heir to the Agreste line, but since he was in a disguise, he hoped it meant his lady had spotted him and was even now puzzling out whether he could be the same man who had refused to give her a name at their first meeting.

A short distance across the room, a woman with raven hair in a red dress was indeed staring directly at him. She held her black fan in front of her face using her left hand, and coupled with the black mask that hid the top portion of her face, the striking blue of her eyes stood out and called him to join her.

Making his way along the edge of the dancers, he approached the woman who could very well be the one for whom he had spent the early part of this evening looking. Once he got closer, he could discern a well-made costume that suggested the idea of a ladybug, mostly from a lace overlay exhibiting round areas of more concentrated pattern spotted across the voluminous skirt. A train of the same lace draped down the back of her dress, then attached to her wrists, giving the illusion of delicate wings.

Her height seemed similar to Miss Dupain-Cheng, but the mask was still preventing him from identifying the woman before him with certainty. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Bowing low at the waist, he offered the expected masquerade greeting but hoped she caught the deeper meaning behind the usual phrase, because if she did, he had found her. "Do you know me?"

She curtseyed to him. "I believe I might." Reaching toward her wrist, she pulled the edge of her handkerchief out, but only the corner and no further. Momentarily confused, he met her gaze, which she then directed back toward her wrist. Glancing down again, he noticed the white on white cat paw-print embroidery. She was carrying the token he had sent with the flowers.

The smile stretched wide across his face, refusing to be contained. He bowed once more. "Your servant, Milady. Will you favor me with your hand in the next dance?"

She looked momentarily pleased, then disappointment entered her eyes. "I regret that I am engaged, sir."

Just the answer he was hoping for. "I find I am engaged for the next after that, but will you perhaps grant me the pleasure of the dinner dance?" Not only had he found her, he would be allowed to escort her to table if she accepted.

She curtseyed deeply. "I would be honored." She allowed him to put his name on her dance card, then lifted an eyebrow in a familiar manner when she saw what he had written. "Chat Noir."

He smiled once more. "Names are not allowed until dinner. But I shall be pleased to share mine at that time. Until then." He bowed and stepped away, allowing her upcoming dance partner to claim her at the appropriate time.

* * *

He had no desire to be rude to those he encountered in the interim, but time seemed to stand still until he could claim the reserved dance. Finally crossing to where he had met with her, he bowed to the woman he had expressly come to meet with tonight, feeling quite proud of his accomplishment in actually finding her.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng? I believe this is my dance?"

"Chat Noir, names are not yet permissible. As we have not been formally introduced, you may refer to me as 'Ladybug' until our hosts can remedy this situation." She curtseyed and he led her to the dance floor.

The musicians began a waltz; this evening kept improving. While he had not cared what kind of dance he obtained, the additional benefit of extended time without the steps necessitating separation or interacting with others as part of a prescribed set of movements was ideal for learning more about her.

They began circling the floor, their movements synchronized and graceful, as if they had partnered each other before, though he knew for certain that was not the case. She followed his lead with ease and seemed relaxed in his presence, enjoying the music and the dancing without the need for banalities about the weather or number of couples, and thankfully absent the fluttering lashes or desperate flirtations that had been aimed his way of late. However, he rather thought he'd enjoy her interest directed solely at him, should she choose to bestow it.

"Miss Dup—"

She cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, _Ladybug_."

She smiled.

"How have you found this evening?" That was his brilliant opening? He consoled himself with the thought that at least he didn't remark about the heat of the ballroom.

"I find the evening has taken a decidedly interesting turn. I had rather thought we'd never meet again, Chat Noir, or at least, if we did, I would not be aware that it was you. I am happily proven wrong tonight."

"I confess I have spent all evening looking for you. But your mask is highly effective, Ladybug. I was beginning to fear I would have to wait until after this dance and the dinner, when I could search for you without it. But then, you wouldn't have known it was me, at least until I revealed it."

"And yet you persevered. You did find me. How?"

"Call it my feline senses. I felt your eyes on me. When I looked for the source, it was if your blue eyes were highlighted by the black of the mask and your fan. I hoped you were looking my direction because the disguise was familiar."

She blushed, the pink on her cheeks visible beneath the bottom of her mask. "Very much so. I knew I shouldn't stare, but I could not help trying to determine if I was merely seeing what I hoped was the same attire of my mysterious garden companion." She paused, realizing what she had just revealed, the pink deepening to red now. "Excuse me. That was rather forward."

He directed a smile her way, blinding in its intensity. "I find your candor refreshing, Milady. It is one of the reasons I am here tonight."

"How so?"

"I am family friends with our hosts and knew of your acceptance of their invitation before determining my own attendance. It seemed the perfect opportunity to ensure a formal introduction to a fascinating woman who was unafraid to speak her mind to an unexpected guest."

She returned his smile. "Tell me, Chat Noir, how is your invention faring? Have you solved your problem with its function yet?"

He was astounded. He told her that he expressly came to meet her, yet she turned it back to him, to his scientific pursuits rather than let him continue to compliment her?

"Are you truly interested?"

"I am."

"I don't usually discuss my endeavors—I have been told it is too technical and even unseemly for a gentleman, let alone a lady. I have actually been scolded by my father for disturbing his dinner guests in the past."

She sighed. "I am afraid that being a lady often means dull conversation is the only acceptable kind. I had hoped you might think differently on the matter, given our earlier meeting and your willing answers to my questions."

He turned them expertly around the floor, further intrigued by this woman who was in every way a lady of quality, yet unembarrassed to have thoughtful discussion whether in a ballroom or a garden.

"I do think differently. The scolding I mentioned was likely the fifth or sixth time such a thing has occurred, I have lost track. I am merely relieved to find my father mistaken in his belief that I would scare away any respectable lady with such talk."

Miss Dupain-Cheng thought for a moment, then began to speak, more hesitantly than anything else she had yet said. "Perhaps it would be best if we keep our discussions private. I am afraid my own papa would wax eloquent on proper ladylike discourse, yet again, should he be made aware of my comments this evening."

He leaned toward her and said quietly, "Your secret is as safe with me as mine is with you."

Her eyes sparkled as they met his again.

"As for my invention, I may have discovered the problem. I believe the pressurization chamber was miscalibrated, causing the tension within the baton to be insufficient."

"And have you tested your theory yet?"

The grin overtook his face. He had never met anyone like this woman.

"Within the lab, it has been corrected to my satisfaction. I have not tried the distance of your garden again, however. Would you be interested in testing it in the natural realm, Ladybug?"

Her eyes widened, but the gleam within them was unmistakable. "You're not serious."

Oh, but he was. He could think of nothing more compelling than her by his side as he tested it again over her garden. Or hearing her opinions and suggestions in his laboratory, whatever device he was working on. He had rarely been able to discuss his ideas with others, certainly with no one as beautiful and captivating as the woman he now held in his arms while they waltzed.

* * *

All too soon, the dance was ending; bows and curtsies were exchanged, and clapping commenced for the musicians.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has now arrived." Mayor Bourgeois' voice boomed from the front of the room. "Please, remove your masks and proceed to the dinner room with your partners."

Murmurs and laughter could be heard all around. Adrien found himself nervous, an uncomfortable and somewhat unexpected sensation. What would Miss Dupain-Cheng think when she discovered who her partner was?

Deciding that it was best to find out now and get the inevitable awkwardness finished, he lifted the Chat Noir mask and revealed his recognizable face, only to be met with a blank expression in her blue eyes. It was then he realized she had absolutely no idea who he was.


	7. Unmasked

**Author's Note: This chapter concludes the three-prompt arc combining Victorian AU, mask ball, and now, post reveal. I hope you have enjoyed it.**

**And if you're wondering, yes, the ending is out of character for the time period. Sorry. I tried to behave, really I did. But consider that the "punk" for this particular chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

She had been correct in the garden: the man behind the mask was unknown to her. But oh, he was handsome. She could feel the heat creeping into her face. Would it be permissible to put her own mask back on, disguising his effect on her?

"I do believe we should seek out our hosts." Chat Noir's voice broke what had turned into a slightly uncomfortable silence. Extending his arm toward her, she placed her hand on it and allowed him to escort her toward the Bourgeoises.

"Adrien! My boy! I did not expect you to come as a cat of all creatures! Then again, you were always very sly whenever Chloe tried to discover your planned costume."

He bowed toward the mayor. "I must keep some element of mystery. But not too much, which brings me to this particular moment. Could you please formally introduce me to my lovely dinner companion?"

"Delighted. Utterly delighted. Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng, may I have the very great honor of introducing to you Mr. Adrien Agreste?"

He bowed toward her and she curtseyed in return, habit taking over as her thoughts whirled uncontrollably.

"Might I retain the pleasure of escorting you to table, Miss Dupain-Cheng?"

Her eyes were wide, but she nodded. "I would be honored, Mr. Agreste."

Of all the people beneath Chat Noir's façade, it had to be Adrien Agreste. The man labelled "catch of the season" by nearly every female at every ball she had attended since her arrival in London. If the jealous looks directed her way were any indication, more than one lady thought it grossly unfair that a relative newcomer should have the honor of being escorted to the dinner room by the handsome gentleman.

Mr. Agreste seemed immune to the reactions of those they passed, his attention solely focused on her. It was flattering and a little unnerving.

"You are new to London, Miss Dupain-Cheng? Before that evening in your garden, we had not had the pleasure of meeting. I would have remembered, I assure you."

His manner was no different than as Chat Noir, but she supposed that was to be expected as the surprise was all on her end. He had been in possession of her name from the beginning, but her shock left her slightly tongue tied and unsure of how to proceed, so she opted for a slightly more formal tone than had been her wont in their earlier interactions.

"Fairly recently, sir. I arrived in London at the beginning of this season. I have been in England for almost a year now."

"That explains how we have never met. My father is encouraging me to be more social, but I find it tedious much of the time."

Why would the darling of society find being the center of female attention a problem? Wouldn't most men welcome that? After all, he was _the_ Adrien Agreste, with money, power, prestige, and a face that could set a woman's pulse galloping.

Yet she already knew that was not all there was to him. He was also kind, intelligent, quite humorous, and a bit of a flirt; he was a unique man, and one whose suit she would wholeheartedly encourage but could hardly expect now, knowing who he was.

He was completely out of her reach. No matter that he was her companion for dinner this evening, or that he had treated her in a manner unlike any man since coming to England. Of course, she'd find the one man who could perhaps accept her as she was rather than trying to mold her into a "proper lady," only to discover he could have any woman in the city he chose. And, knowing that, why would he choose her?

Midway through dinner, Mr. Agreste's bantering tone changed to one of serious concern.

"Excuse me, Miss Dupain-Cheng? Have I offended you somehow? Our earlier rapport seems to have fled and I cannot help but think I am the cause. Allow me to rectify the slight, please, whatever I may have done?"

"Offended me? No, Mr. Agreste. I apologize for giving you that impression. My attention wandered momentarily." She winced. Did she just imply that he could not hold her attention?

"Are you well? Can I get you anything?"

"No, no. I am fine, I thank you. Merely perplexed."

"Ahhh. A problem I can assist with? Perhaps something scientific?"

"Not scientific. You could help clarify my thinking, I believe, but I have no wish to offend you, either."

He looked intrigued. "I am at your service."

As she could hardly ask why he'd possibly want to seek _her_ out, knowing who she was this entire time, and that he was so far above her socially, she blurted another question entirely. "Why does a gentleman dress as a cat to pursue scientific endeavors?"

He laughed. "A fair question. My father is vastly more concerned with societal position and image than I, but he also desires to see me happy. It was a compromise we devised to enable me to do what I enjoy while still maintaining the polished image he values."

She had never considered that he might experience some of the same pressures she did as a woman, expectations for behavior that went outside the bounds of common sense. Why did people seem to value a lifestyle of such ease that solving problems, or even thinking about them, into a type of "work" unsuitable for the upper classes?

She nodded. "I understand parental strictures. Before coming to England, I had significantly more freedom in expressing my ideas. My papa is a good man, but he eagerly desires to fit into our new home, and my conformity is expected to that end."

"Conformity is good in some instances," he began. "For example, adhering to the law, or treating others with respect. But your refusal to conform in other ways is directly responsible for my presence here with you at this moment."

"I do not understand."

He looked back at her, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Do you not?" He sighed. "Perhaps you noticed, once the masks were off, there was a vast amount of attention directed our way? That has become my life. I am constantly in the light as Adrien Agreste, heir. Certain—expectations—are placed on me, on what others think I desire, and that often takes preeminence over my actual preferences or plans. I cannot escape them.

"As Chat Noir, you had no such expectations of me. You didn't try to tailor your responses based on my family name. In fact, I believe you were rather put out with me when we parted that evening."

She looked down. That much was certainly true. Ironically enough, she was only annoyed because he would not reveal his identity.

"I rather miss the less formal way we had of conversing before," he commented gently. "Is there a way we can return to that? Where we can discuss my work or you can scold me for retiring in your garden uninvited?" His devastating smile would he her undoing. No wonder all the unattached females were enamored of him.

"I would enjoy that, but I'm not positive such a goal is attainable. As I am in the company of Adrien Agreste, I am now under certain obligations myself, obligations I was unaware of before I knew the identity of the man behind the façade. That has changed things materially."

"Am I so unacceptable to you, then? Have I really offended you, perhaps something I did before we were introduced, something you could not hold against me as Chat Noir because you didn't know I was he? Or your father has an unfavorable impression of me for some reason?"

His concern over her perception of him loosened her tongue finally and she revealed what truly weighed on her mind. "Absolutely not. I assure you, my reservations stem only from wondering what possible inducement you have to single me out in such a manner. While we are of the same set strictly speaking, I am under no misunderstanding that I would normally be included in your immediate circle. You could have the company of any of the ladies here tonight with a simple look. Why should you desire my company over any of them?"

"You don't know? I find you remarkable—you intrigue me. Your wit is equal to my own, likely surpasses it, yet you retain humility. You are interested in my work, not afraid of it. And Miss Dupain-Cheng is not a simpering miss incapable of commenting on anything more meaningful than her ball gown. She has opinions, fascinating ones I would enjoy hearing more about."

Her shock was evident upon her face.

"I have seen the real you by hiding my identity for a short time. Would you prefer I put the mask back on? If I must hide to glimpse that impressive lady once more, I will."

Marinette's initial impulse was to tell him it _would_ have been easier if she had remained ignorant of his identity, but reality must be faced if they were to move forward, and oh, how she wanted to. "I think not. While that might make the present more tolerable, hiding will do neither of us any good in the long term."

"You understand why I was reluctant to reveal myself before? Can you forgive my deception?"

"I do. And I have. But I confess it may take me some time to adjust to this new knowledge."

"Take all the time you like, Milady. But if you will not allow me to hide, I cannot allow you to do so, either, especially not from me."

And he didn't. Before they parted after dinner, he ensured his name was on her card for the last dance. A mark of preference which began to help her trust that his interest in her was genuine, that he didn't consider her somehow beneath him. She would have to adjust her own thinking on the matter.

* * *

Patiently, persistently, he continued to draw her back out over the next months at various events. He often reminded her that he knew her identity before the ball, that she was the only reason he had accepted that particular invitation.

As they spent more time together, he helped her realize that her own uniqueness made her his perfect match, that he wanted her to be completely herself, confident in her ideas and in expressing them to him, if no one else. He didn't want her to change to suit anyone's idea of what the future wife of Adrien Agreste should be like. And if the jealous whispers behind fans were any indication, that was exactly where they were heading.

The garden after dark had become one of her favorite places to clear her mind. One particular evening, her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind, which she recognized after an initial shock. Thankfully so, for otherwise their relationship would have ended abruptly with either her heart failing or his unconscious form once more in her shrubbery.

"Did you know I have a greenhouse behind the mansion? That, in addition to my scientific pursuits, I enjoy flowers?"

A rose, the deepest red she had ever beheld, appeared from over her shoulder, gently caressing her cheek.

"When I saw this rose blooming, I knew I had to bring it to you. It's richer and more vibrant than any I have yet seen. Intense, you might say. Compelling. It reminded me of the woman I love."

She turned around, then smiled to see Chat Noir. Adrien. Wearing the mask.

"Do you know me?"

"Returning to the masquerade? I thought we had agreed not to hide any longer."

"We did. And yet, here you are, in disguise. If you aren't hiding, are you testing an invention, then?"

"I am, in fact." He pulled his baton from his coat pocket. "I have already determined my earlier flaw is corrected. But I have been experimenting with a secondary spring, attached to this button," he indicated the third pad from the right, "capable of vaulting greater weights to a similar distance. It will extend from the opposite end."

"Are you planning on consuming vast quantities of food at the next ball, Chat Noir?"

He chuckled warmly, stepping close enough to place his hand at her waist. She slid the mask up his face, leaving it to rest in his hair, her hands sliding slowly back down either side of his jaw, coming to rest on his shoulders. He smiled and her knees went weak.

"My reputation will never survive a clandestine garden meeting, Mr. Agreste, should we be discovered."

"Then I must make my intentions known quickly." He pressed the rose into her hand, freeing one of his, which he then used to anchor her firmly against him. He brought the baton back up, indicating the third pad once more. "I was rather hoping we might see if I had performed the calculations correctly for _two_. Care to see where my invention might take us, Milady?"


	8. Goodbye

**Author's Note: While I enjoyed the last three chapters, not having the characters really touch much outside of the dance hold was more difficult than I thought it'd be! This chapter relieves the tension that the Victorian AU characters couldn't. And it is almost pure fluff. You've been warned.**

**At the start of the story, I have Chat bringing flowers. This is also a product of the previous chapters; when I read the meaning of these particular flowers, I knew I HAD to use it in a story with these two, and while Marinette might have been the natural choice, I like to twist things into the unexpected a bit, especially when I can play with the double meanings that pop up in relation to the love square.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

It had gone on long enough. This had to stop or he'd lose his mind. The secret was eating at him, consuming his thoughts all the time.

But despite the mask, the words wouldn't come. Maybe it was because he'd been younger and not as smart about these things when he tried to woo Ladybug. Or maybe it was because of the end result of those efforts. But the Chat Noir confidence he had hoped would come with his transformation was nowhere to be found and he was as jumpy as, well, a cat.

He decided the flowers could open the conversation. And while roses were traditional, since their relationship had been anything but that up until this point, he went a little off the beaten path with his choices. After some research, he settled on a bouquet of pink tulips with some cloves in the center, both to add fragrance, and the core of symbolic meaning.

But his plans no longer mattered when he arrived on her balcony. She was up there, looking out over the city, evidence of crying on her cheeks. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was tears on Marinette's face.

"Princess? What is it?"

She startled a bit, then swiped at her eyes.

"Don't worry, Chat. I'll be okay. I just decided I'm done being invisible."

"Invisible? I can see you just fine."

She laughed, some joy coming back into her eyes. "I know, silly kitty. That's not quite what I meant. I—well, I've had a crush for a while, but he—wait, what are those?"

He'd forgotten the flowers. Almost forgotten his name. He was already too late then? Just like with Ladybug, but this time, instead of coming on too strong, he'd waited too long to stake his claim on his Princess.

"Oh, uh—well, um—flowers?"

"For me?"

He wanted to pass it off as nothing big, but his heart was breaking. And rather than salvage his pride, he wanted to let her know she had a choice.

"Yeah, Princess. They are."

"Thank you, Chat. How did you know I'd need cheering up?"

"I didn't. But I'm glad I came at the right time." He passed them into her hands and a smile formed on her lips as she inhaled the fragrance from the center of the bouquet.

"It smells delightful—but why cloves, Chat? Most of the time, people only think of them for cooking."

He cleared his throat. "I picked the tulips because I know pink is your favorite color, and I liked the meaning behind them."

"Meaning? Beyond just your thoughtfulness? Tell me."

"How about later? Why don't you tell me what has you upset?"

She looked down at the flowers, setting them carefully on her deck chair before twisting her hands in knots. "I've cared about someone for a long time, and though I've tried to capture his attention, I get nowhere. I'm frustrated. Defeated." Another tear began a slow trek down her face and she wouldn't look up at him.

He growled, low and long, almost feral, like the cat his transformation made him appear to be.

"He's a fool, Princess." He pulled her into his arms. If she was surprised, at least she didn't resist, nestling into the embrace.

He leaned back slightly, bringing her chin up to look in his face. "If he can't see the beautiful, amazing woman in front of him, he's a fool."

Drawing closer again, he bumped her nose with his own, feeling her breath warm across his lips. It was intoxicating and he wanted to be closer still. Sliding his nose over hers, down the other side, almost inaudibly he continued, "I've been a fool."

And he gave in to what he'd been wanting to do for months now, claiming her lips with his own. He half expected a slap or at least a shove to gain some distance; instead she gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, matching his intensity with her own.

When they parted, somewhat breathless, she looked up at him. "I think maybe I've been a fool, too, Chat. Wow. I—I had no idea you felt that way."

He couldn't bring himself to let her go, but he needed to say the words before he lost his nerve. "Look, Marinette. I probably should apologize for doing that at this particular moment, but I'm not really sorry. I've wanted to do that for a while now. That's the meaning behind the flowers, Princess. Tulips are a declaration of love." He heard a small gasp. "And the cloves tell the rest of my secret, that I've loved you for a while now, but you didn't know it."

"Chat—"

He stopped her words with his fingertips. "Let me finish, Marinette, please? That kiss—that was amazing. But you're not obligated by it. I just want you to be happy, even if it's not with me." As if calling him a liar, his traitorous arms tightened.

She leaned up and kissed his jaw, moving her hands to the back of his head, running her fingers through the longish strands. He just might dissolve at her feet if she kept doing that.

"That was a long overdue goodbye, Kitty. I've started having feelings for someone else and it's time to let go." She smiled as his heart shattered.

He stiffened. "I understand. And I'm a man of my word, even when I'm a cat."

He made to step back, but she was having none of it.

"Where are you going?" Her confused look was adorable and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, claiming her for his own, driving this guy who wasn't nearly good enough for her far from her thoughts and heart.

"I promised, Princess. The choice is yours, and if that kiss was goodbye, I will honor your wishes. But if he hurts you again, I cannot be held responsible for how I may respond. He'd better try harder to deserve you."

She pulled his head down to meet hers, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, looking directly in his eyes. "Chat, I was saying goodbye to him when you arrived. Not to you. You're the one I've discovered I have feelings for. That kiss was very definitely a hello."

"Oh yeah, Princess?" He grinned.

"Yeah."

And she said hello again.


	9. What I Always Do

**Author's Note: Ladrien isn't my favorite part of the love square, even though they are technically the same people. But I was looking for a bit of a challenge, so I wanted to write at least one prompt for the month.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storyline of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. I make no profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just spending some time with a few of my favorite characters. The story is mine, however, except where directly referencing or quoting an episode.**

* * *

His brain was hazy. Everything hurt. But he knew there was a reason he needed to focus, to push through the black fog that wanted to reclaim him.

There was a soft voice, far away. And, was that crying?

"Please. Come back to me. I need you to wake up. You can't leave. Not before I tell you."

A hesitant touch, fingers running through his hair. Well, that didn't hurt, it was soothing. He opened his eyes a sliver to see the familiar red and black of her disguise, but his head was in her lap? What in the world had happened?

"Milady?"

A sharp intake of breath.

"Are you okay?"

He tried to smile, but even that hurt.

"Well, I think so. If the pain is any indication, everything is still in place."

"I didn't find any broken bones, but you were unconscious for a couple minutes. We should probably get you to a doctor. That hit was brutal."

"I've taken worse, Bugaboo. I'll be fine." He tried to sit up, then groaned and gave up, sinking back down.

"You should probably stay still for a few more minutes. The akuma has been taken care of, so there's no danger at the moment."

"Except to your identity. How much longer do you have?"

She laughed humorlessly. "As if that mattered once I saw you go down. What in the world were you thinking to jump in front of me like that?"

"I was just doing what I always do, Milady."

Silence. At least she wasn't arguing with him at the moment. That didn't seem to be any more normal than her continuing to run her fingers over his scalp. He wouldn't complain, though. It made the hit worth it. Besides, once the miraculous ladybugs did their thing, he'd be good as new, wouldn't he? Still, he couldn't escape the nagging doubt that something wasn't quite right.

Another telltale beep. "While I don't object to staying this way for, I don't know, a lifetime or so, don't you think you should toss your lucky charm in the air and restore things to the way they were before the damage?"

One more stroke to his hair, then the familiar words echoed through the stillness. A slight tingling sensation, then he felt remarkably better. To prove himself fully recovered, he leapt to his feet and then swept into a bow.

"See, Milady? All—"

His following words stuck in his throat as his eyes caught sight of orange shoes, jeans, and the bare skin of his arms. Oh. _Oh._

"Chat?"

He reluctantly raised his eyes to hers. "Uh—I can explain—"

Her smirk told him it would do no good; she wasn't stupid. But at least she didn't look ready to kill him.

She stepped closer, cupping his cheek with her hand. His eyes flew wide.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, Chat. When you—as Adrien—jumped in front of me to take that hit, I was sure I'd lost you. And I couldn't figure out why Adrien Agreste would throw himself in front of me. But now it makes sense."

It came flooding back with clarity in an instant. He hadn't had time to transform, but the akuma had thrown a bolt straight at her and he reacted on pure protective instinct, never once considering he didn't have his transformation to shield him. Once he came to, his brain was so scrambled that he just assumed he must have been Chat for his partner to be so close.

"Oh, Kitty. What am I going to do with you?"

"Marry me?"

She laughed. "Even without the mask, you're still the same. Yet—"

She looked down. Then back up. "Yet, you're very unlike the Adrien I know."

"We know each other, Ladybug, outside the masks?"

A final beep sounded and her transformation dissolved in a wash of pink light. She looked momentarily shocked, then suddenly shy. Much more like the classmate of several years she was now revealed to be.

"Marinette? What? Why? I mean—why now?"

She shrugged. "It seemed fair."

"But you always wanted to keep our identities secret. Now we both know. Not that I didn't always want to know, but—"

"But you're disappointed." She turned away, arms wrapped around her middle.

"What? No! Marinette, never." He gently turned her back around. "Milady, I could never be disappointed to know the woman behind the mask, and to find I already know you, that we're friends, it's more than I dared dream."

"Friends." He thought she tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it to her lips. "Yeah."

"Aren't we friends?"

"Sure, Adrien. I'll always be your friend."

Why did she sound so sad about that?

"Is there—well—any chance—".

She looked up at him, almost hopefully. But that was silly, wasn't it?

He sighed. "Look, Marinette, I know this is a bit weird and all, but I always told you I'd love whoever was behind that mask. I just didn't expect to _already_ love her." He moved his hands down her arms to take her own in his.

Adrien watched her process this information, then her smile finally spread across her lips and lit her eyes. "Are you saying that you lo—love—_me_?"

"I have, for a while now. Trust me, this solves the guilt I was feeling for loving two remarkable women, finding out they are actually one and the same."

Marinette flung herself into his arms. He chuckled and held her tightly. "Is that a 'yes' then, to having a chance?"

* * *

**Author's (Second) Note: I guess some might say I cheated, since Adrien thought he was Chat at the time, but that's beside the point; it's Ladrien, even if all parties weren't aware of it from the start.**


End file.
